


What to Expect When You're Done Expecting

by Project0506



Series: Soft Wars [21]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Brothers, Brothers being assholes, Gen, Humor, Parenting Woes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:35:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23539966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Project0506/pseuds/Project0506
Summary: The time-honored tradition of drinks and parental commiseration is honored.
Series: Soft Wars [21]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1683775
Comments: 50
Kudos: 720





	What to Expect When You're Done Expecting

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nibylandia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nibylandia/gifts).



“Caleb has porgpox.” A round of groans meet Grey’s pronouncement and a few brothers tip their drinks in his direction. “Styles has to put out a daily bulletin making sure everyone knows he’s still not dead, it’s still a completely mild childhood illness that billions of kids get every year, still recovering nicely, and that sneaking him sugared ices won’t actually help in any way.” His head thunks down on the slightly sticky table. “And he doesn’t cry, oh no, it’s worse. He’s _trying to be brave_ so he sits there staring into empty air and his eyes just… leak. Not a man in Wave strong enough to resist that.”

A ‘Kot1’ and it’s two taps ripple around the table.

Grey waves his appreciation, and groans. “He’s _so small_ ,” he complains incongruously. “It’s hell on my nerves. Anytime we go anywhere I’m afraid someone’s gonna just bundle him in a pack and take off.”

“Won’t be small for long,” Rex chimes in, and salutes with his beer when Grey waves his permission for Rex to take the metaphorical stage. “Ahsoka’s halfway through a growth spurt. And when Nat-borns use the word ‘spurt’ they actually mean ‘over the course of several painful months’. She’s spending pretty much every day hurting, her clothes have to keep changing, also she doesn’t want to eat because she thinks she’s fat. And apparently the galaxy is ending because at the end of this she might be too tall or too heavy to be the blocker in Murderball.”

It’s like a sociology case study played out in a microcosm, Bly observes with wonder. Or a holodrama in suburbia. Whatever happened in the nearly a year since Bly has been running back-to-back missions along the outer rim seems to have triggered some latent Fett genetic predisposition to _spawn_ in any way possible. Regardless, it’s _fascinating_.

“Well Numa’s doing great,” one of the 212th boys Bly doesn’t know says with malicious cheer. The men merrily jeer at him for daring to not share their misery. He grins and drains his beer. “Soaking up Mando’a like a sponge and she battlesigns like she was born to it. Not a fan of Basic though.”

“Well isn’t that just lovely for you, Waxer. I hope you enjoy it to the fullest,” Gree growls. “Because soon she’s going to be a teenager and she’ll think Ahsoka Tano’s _upper_ _musculature_ _is rather shapely_ and not know how to handle that.”

Another round of sympathies, and Rex’s face becomes particularly pained.

Bly leans over and prods Wolffe. “Which one’s yours then?” he asks, since it looks like everyone he knows is settling down and raising warriors. He feels distinctly middle-aged bachelor.

Wolffe snorts. “General’s too determined to adopt all of us instead of letting us adopt a padawan. We’re wearing him down though. I give it another month. Sinker’s got a couple solid candidates and Comet’s already got age-appropriate flight sims loaded.”

Bly shakes his head and laughs. “You, with kids.”

“Oi. I raised Rex just fine.”

“Oh did you,” Bly teases, an old argument.

“Hell yes, raised him myself with my own hands.” A beat, practiced. “Ponds helped.” They both giggle, the joke part nostalgia part alcohol, but all funny. A long shadow falls across the table.

“Good evening gentlemen, please don’t stand.” There was an aborted, habitual motion among the gathered vode to do just that. She’s dressed casually without any of her Jedi robes but General Ti’s distinctive montrals give her away immediately. “Apologies for interrupting, but I’m having an issue and Commander Cody has said that Commander Bly is uniquely suited to provide some insight.”

Bly swallows his surprise quickly. “Any way I can help, sir.” He’s almost dead center of the booth though, it’ll take a little maneuvering to get out. General Ti waves off his attempts.

“Oh please don’t. If you don’t mind, I hope this will only take a moment.”

Bewildered, Bly nods his assent and Gree shuffles round a bit more to give her some room to slide into the seat at the end of the booth. She has her own stein of full something dark that she knocks back without hesitation. If she’d been a brother, there’d have been cheers at it.

“Commander Bly,” she says, once she has drained her drink. Her soft voice tinges unmistakably plaintive. “Why are the cadets all getting their feet stuck in the toilets?”

In synchronization, Rex and Wolffe both choke. Wolffe sputtering on the mouthful of beer he’d been unwise enough to take.

Bly pales with rage. He’s going to murder Cody. A Silence Pact in a cadet squad is _sacred_.

Rex is trying to pretend he’s not giggling.

“It’s at least every tenday,” General Ti, continues, undeterred. “We had to _cut_ a cadet out of one last Taungsday he was wedged so far down!” She sounds so lost. “What are they _doing_?”

There’s a slightly uncomfortable silence. “I’m afraid I have no idea sir,” Bly lies, face the kind of blankness even Wolffe has never managed. Cadet Silence Pacts are _karking sacred_ and if their littlest brothers are trying to dispose of contraband snacks in incredibly ill-conceived ways then _Bly_ isn’t the one going to out them. Besides, a brother will only ever do it the once, then they know better. Like Bly.

The General’s sigh is almost heartbroken. “It just doesn’t make any sense.”

Grey reaches across the table and carefully pats her hand. “Caleb has porgpox,” he deflects, because unlike any of Bly’s actual squad, _Grey_ has Bly’s six.

“Ugh,” General Ti agrees with a chest-deep sound of disgust. “ _Porgpox_. Does the Luka cream actually help the itching?”

“No.” “Not even a little.” Waxer and Grey say almost instantly.

“Polytalc powder works better, but not for very long,” Waxer says.

“Don’t use that in a closed environment,” Rex adds. “It vaporizes, you’ll never get your air filters the same again.”

Someone passes General Ti another beer. She drains that too. “Mud,” she admits. “I just… end up dumping them in a puddle of mud. I have no idea if it actually works or if they're too busy playing to scratch.” She sighs. “When I’m not cutting them out of toilets.”

Someone signals for another round. The stories flow faster than the beer.

‘ _Alibi’_ Wolffe signs under the table. Bly officially loves Wolffe more than _both_ Cody and Rex.

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Strength, brother. If this is your first time dabbling in this little universe of mine, know that this is an in-joke that started [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23407009). Back  
> 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Cadet Squad Secrecy Pact](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23543401) by [Project0506](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Project0506/pseuds/Project0506)
  * [Rough Patches](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25471624) by [CmonCmon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CmonCmon/pseuds/CmonCmon)




End file.
